


i named you like a prayer

by longhairandbarefeet



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, F/M, Forgiveness, Late Night Conversations, Post S7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:21:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhairandbarefeet/pseuds/longhairandbarefeet
Summary: When he looks back up into her eyes, staring straight through her, she finally notices the tears sitting damp on his cheeks. “Sansa,” He begins, but he chokes on the second s, unable to accurately say her name and she flinches. He tries again, “I have done things, seen things, and at the time, it seemed the best thing to do, but the moment I saw Winterfell, when I saw you, I knew I had failed you.”





	i named you like a prayer

Her eyes flutter open, no real reason for it, it’s too early in the morning to wake for the day, and too late to enjoy restful sleep. Her eyes can’t adjust to the darkness, her candles have long burned out and there is an unsettling thickness she can feel in the air.

 

“Is there anyone there?” Sansa’s voice is shaking as she reaches for something to use as a weapon. She doesn’t know who would come into her room late at night like this, the only person would have been Petyr, and he was gone now. “Arya?” Sansa asks a moment after, thinking maybe her sister was attempting to play a joke, something very Arya-like after everything they put each other through in the last few days.

 

“Sansa,” a voice whispers, soft and quiet and deep, she thinks for a moment it’s the ghost of her Lord Father. Since she’s been staying in her parent’s old rooms, she thought it would make her feel safer, closer, that it would make her feel like she was crawling into her parent’s bed like she did when she was a little girl, but sleep still remained just as fitful as ever. “Sansa, it’s me. It’s Jon.”

 

“Jon?” Sansa says with her voice going sharp, unable to fully trust that he was sitting a few feet away from her. Her eyes struggling to adjust can see that he is sitting in the chair from her sewing table; he must’ve pulled it close to her bedside while she was sleeping. She smiles, her olfactory senses finally catching up with her. Her room smells like him, the smell of pine trees, leather, warmth, and something new, something she can’t place yet.

 

 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” He whispers with a ghost of a laugh on his breath. “It seems silly of an idea now. I should’ve waited until the morning.”

 

“No.” Sansa replies firmly, her hand reaching across and finding his in the darkness. She can’t see his reactions, but she can feel them, feel that he’s gripping her hand while his thumb rubs unhurriedly across her skin, she wonders if she could get used to it. She lets out a contemplative sigh.

 

“I had a nightmare on my journey here,” Jon says finally. “And I needed to make sure you were okay.”

 

“Don’t be silly, Jon.” Sansa smiles, surprised, as she looks down at her covers, her fingers playing with the edges of her blankets. She’s dreamt only nightmares since she can remember, and she knows Jon isn’t a stranger to bad dreams. What made this one so different? “You’ve missed things in your absence, but there is time to discuss that later. I can assure you that I am well.”

 

“Aye, it seems you are.”

 

“I’ve missed you.” Sansa whispers softly, and it feels misplaced in the conversation. She’s unsure why it came out of her mouth the way it did, clumsy and needy and childlike. It must be because sometimes it still feels strange that she craves his company. She’s grown accustom to his voice, mannerisms, and presence, having done so since they reunited at the Wall.

 

He takes this moment to light the candle on her nightstand, her eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness in the room. She notices in the glow of the candlelight that he looks different, his expressions more troubled than before he left for Dragonstone, his eyes tired, mouth pursed, lips chapped. “I’ve missed you too, Sansa.” 

 

“This isn’t just about some nightmare you had, is it?” She asks, several moments later, knowing that he has something important on the tip of his tongue.

 

“No,” Jon replies, heading shaking slowly as he looks down at the floorboards with his eyebrows scrunched. When he looks back up into her eyes, staring straight through her, she finally notices the tears sitting damp on his cheeks. “Sansa,” He begins, but he chokes on the second s, unable to accurately say her name and she flinches. He tries again, “I have done things, seen things, and at the time, it seemed the best thing to do, but the moment I saw Winterfell, when I saw you, I knew I had failed you.”

 

“I honestly don’t know what you are talking about?” Sansa replies, swallowing harshly at the ambiguity of his words. “What did you do?”

 

“I bent the knee.” Jon says firmly, and with no second thought, Sansa lets his hand fall from her grasp. She tucks hers back into her lap, and watches as he pulls his to his lap too. His aren’t warm to her anymore, they feel cold and stiff and akin to betrayal. “You must understand my actions, I had to do what I had to do. It is what keeps us alive, keeps us safe, keeps us going.”

 

“You are a fool, Jon Snow.” Sansa replies, voice breaking as she struggles to keep it together. She should’ve known, he’s exactly like her father, like Robb, but she thought after all they’d went through to get their home back from Ramsey Bolton’s grasp that he wouldn’t just give it away to some stranger with dragons.

 

She feels foolish, too.

 

“Sansa, please—”

 

“I begged you to listen to me, pleaded for you to stay, but you left anyways,” Sansa spits, her tone as cold as the snow falling outside. He doesn’t look at her when she speaks, choosing to close his eyes tightly. “I told you to come home in all my letters, and now that you have come home, you tell me you’ve given our home away?”

 

“Gods be damned Sansa, you don’t think I know it!” Jon shouts, and while he seems visibly distressed, she won’t let him affect her. He rises from his chair to pace the room, and she watches him move around and around, going from one end to the other like Ghost had done in his absence. “I need you to listen to me, please! I saw things beyond the Wall, and those things are coming for us whether we like it or not, and if we enter this war without Dany or her dragons, we will all die. I won’t let it happen to us. As long as I have breath left inside of my body, Sansa, I will keep you safe.”

 

“Dany?” Sansa says, not hearing anything past the way the Dragon Queen’s nickname rolls off his tongue, and she can’t help the laugh that escapes her lips. It’s a laugh that covers a sob. “I don’t need you to protect me, or keep me safe, I have all the protection I need here. Now, please, I just want you to leave my room.”

 

“But, Sansa, please listen,”

 

“LEAVE!” 

 

Jon does as she wishes, his eyes downcast as he walks to her chamber door. When he reaches it, he holds tight to the handle for a few moments and turns to look at her a final time. She wishes she didn’t look back, didn’t stare into the vastness of his gray eyes because she suddenly wants to forgive him for everything he had done while he was away. She makes herself turn her head and look out the window, anywhere but at him. She can’t forgive him for it, not yet.

 

+

 

It takes months, so many of them before she finally forgives him. It’s not the way they expected it, but it feels the most right. They are in her chambers again, her head pressed to his bare chest as she feels every breath, every beat, and every movement with a smile playing across her lips.

 

“Have you already grown tired of me, my love?” she teases, her hands reaching beneath the furs to see if he’s ready for her again. They’ve only been reunited for a fortnight, the war had been won, and he had rode into Winterfell with Arya and Ghost at his side. She hadn’t spoken to him since that night in her room, not unless you count simple pleasantries, but the moment Sansa saw him enter the courtyard she flung her arms around his neck and eagerly pressed her lips to his. They’ve hardly separated since.

 

“Never.” Jon growled in response, pressing a hungry kiss to her mouth. He flips them over, laying her back against the mattress and head on the pillow. And as he presses kisses along her jaw, neck, clavicle, breast, she tangles her fingers in the thickness of his black hair, always appreciating the way it falls in his face when they are intimate like this.

 

“Jon,” Sansa says, lifting his face from her neck so they are looking at each other, his eyes are full of desire, but there is something else within them, something she hasn’t seen since they were children, he looks happy. And that thought makes her happy. 

“Yes, sweetling?”

“I,” Sansa smiles. “I forgive you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! it's unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own and I apologize! let me know what you think, comments and kudos are amazing!!!


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